


Idle Hands

by Behind_Blue_Eyes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_Blue_Eyes/pseuds/Behind_Blue_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The Scoobies quickly learn that a bored Vampire with ADD tendencies should not be left alone...anywhere.  ESPECIALLY if there are office supplies on hand."</i>
</p><p>Set in Season Four between "Something Blue" and "Hush"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Youth is Wasted on the Forever Young

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DauntlessGrace](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DauntlessGrace).



> This story is in response to a Elysian Fields Challenge given by Laurence Quill
> 
> Challenge requisites will be posted at the end of the last chapter.

“Incoming!” 

It was becoming more and more difficult for Giles to focus amidst the steady aerial-assault of paper airplanes nose-diving and crashing into the book he was attempting to translate.  It appeared that this newest plane was fairly larger and more rigid in structure than the last five that had landed and were scattered across his desk.  Piquing his interest as to why, he plucked the plane from its makeshift landing strip, and carefully unfolded the wings and edges before smoothing out the creases. 

Giles nearly lost his ever-book-loving-mind when he realized this particular plane was fashioned from a page torn out of one of the many invaluable, one-of-a-kind editions from his private collection which, when in the wrong melanin-deprived hands, was quite dangerous. 

Also, as if this needed to be reiterated—Bloody. Invaluable. 

“That is quite enough!”  Giles surged to his feet, tearing off his glasses along the way.  He was barely holding himself back from doing something rash.  Not that anyone would truly care if he’d ‘accidentally’ tossed Spike out on his lily white arse, sans blanket of course, into this glorious Californian, not-a-single-cloud-in-the-sky, sun-drenched afternoon. 

Giles glared at the smug bastard.  All sprawled out in his favorite chair that this bastard had, without permission mind you, repositioned to the center of the room.  However, what was far worse than this discourteous interior redesign, was said bastard’s blatant disregard for the literary arts, which was clearly demonstrated by the scattering of several mangled books with missing, torn and crumpled pages, and the small reserved fleet of paper airplanes fabricated from…was that the _Bible_?

“What?”  Spike stopped mid-fold and tried pulling off innocence—quite terribly might he add.

Giles took a steadying breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth—and collected himself.  He decided to approach Spike in the same manner as he would Xander.  By using a method reserved for those times when the boy was careless or had bolloxed something up, which, if one must honestly admit, was most of the time.  Giles was well versed in the art of addressing one in an adult-sized body with a mind, the tact and intelligence of a blueberry scone. 

_Breathe in, breathe out_  

“Need I remind you, you are here in my home as my guest, a rather gracious invitation on my part might I add, and as such, it is expected of you to abide by common courtesies that one extends and adheres to in these situations.” 

Spike gave a sardonic brow raise, which Giles was well-aware was indicative of a growled ‘Sod Off’.  So clearly, if he was going to get anywhere with Spike, another tactic was necessary since it was obvious that his Victorian upbringing was all but gone, lost alongside his soul.  Giles deduced that appealing to the only commonality they shared might be his best course of action.  

“Spike, as a fellow English man, one can expect some restraint, can’t one?”

Spike smirked—a smile that was as wide as it was wicked.  “One can, but one won’t.” 

Spike then proceeded to make a grand showing of tearing another page from the badly gutted _King James’_ , and while starting on another plane, he sang an obnoxiously loud and out of tune rendition of “God Save the Queen”. 

Well, that hadn’t gone as well as he’d expected, or hoped.  However, Giles decided to pick and choose his battles here.  If he was being at all honest, he wasn’t one for the _Bible_ , in the _King James’_ version or any others, nor has he ever truly given a rot about Ecclesiology or the study of any organized religion for that matter.  Plus, if this minor delinquency and destruction kept Spike busy and out of Giles prized stock of Hennessy, than this was all for the best.  Especially since the tosser had already tore through his Tuesday stash and backup reserve of Martell in a matter of hours.   

Resigned, Giles sighed and sat back down.  Returning his glasses to their rightful place, he tried to refocus on the same dull passage he’d been trying to decipher for the last half-an-hour. 

As he stared at the tangled mess of Samarian pictographs, he fought against getting swept away by the anthem of his own rebellious and jilted youth—a time when he was known as Ripper, and he fought and fucked whenever it suited him, and didn’t give a buggerin’ fuck about nothing and no one.  No responsibilities, no inhibitions, no expectations—it was just him and his guitar with the whole world at his feet. 

What he wouldn’t give right now to lay down his own pristine _Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols_ LP on the turn-table and roll himself a joint.

_Carpe bloody Diem_

Giles gave Spike another once over and instantly recognized the vamp’s signs of boredom; clearly it was all a matter of time before Spike was looking for other means of entertainment.  Alas, there will be no seizing of the day.  At least not this day.  As an adult one must do what one must, and right now there were too many responsibilities, namely a century-plus old vampire with ADD tendencies.

Giles just had to settle for open mic night at the Espresso Pump, or perhaps tonight, if he was able to get away long enough, sneaking in a few bites from the band candy he had stashed away for ‘Research Purposes Only’.  Giles looked again at Spike and sighed longingly,   

_Ah, youth is wasted on the forever young_

 


	2. Stick it to Ya

“Dear Lord, no.  Please no.” 

One of Giles’ fears had come to pass.  He was blind.  Once again.  Upon waking this morning, he’d opened his eyes and was met with only darkness.  It was nearly unbearable to have one’s eyes open, yet not see.  Nonetheless, Giles knew he must keep calm.  Though he was still very unsettled, this time he was in a far better position than he was prior, well, as far as the sightlessness was concerned. 

His course of action was clear: he’d utilize his skills and training as a Watcher, access the situation and locate the cause and cure for this debilitating affliction.  No stone would remain unturned until the malefactor was found. 

Lying in bed, he considered an array of possibilities: his own missteps during translating the Sumerian pictographs; a residual aftereffect of Willow’s “My Will be Done” spell; he’d even gone as far as considering Spike.  However, he quickly dismissed his involvement.  He knew with certainty by the vampire’s insistent discernments regarding magic, he wasn’t the culprit.  

Well, that was not completely accurate. 

Without a doubt, Giles knew Spike wasn’t the caster.  After yesterday’s debacle, he decided to keep all magical resources far out of Spike’s reach.  He took it upon himself to remove and relocate to the boot of his car, his private library and any/all other catalysts, regardless of how mundane and virtually harmless they were. 

Just in case. 

After taking several moments to analyze several possiblities, in which all had resulted in dead ends, Giles knew he’d be unable to reach a feasible solution while wasting the day away in bed.  Clearly research was in order, and though this posed a challenge, he’d persevere.  As he always had… come what may.  Well, the first step was to leave the sanctuary of his bed. 

Giles opened up his eyes and noticed on closer inspection, the slight nuances of this ‘blindness’.  He noted how he was able to make out shapes and shadows in his periphery and upon closer look, he was able to make out a color…was that yellow?  On further scrutiny, he felt a slight unexplained weight against his lids.  Unsure what they were, Giles tentatively reached up and grabbed hold of what was affixed to each brow.     

A.  Bloody. _Post-it_ note _._

Actually, there were two.  Giles held the tiny sticky notes out and squinted in order to read the single words scrawled on each note: _More    Weetabix_

Giles angrily crumbled up the notes and tossed them across the room.  However, he failed taking in consideration the minimal trajectory path that these small pieces of paper were capable of, and they landed with barely a sound at the foot of his bed.  With distain, he blearily eyed the balled up neon-yellow notes standing out against the dark duvet.  Oddly enough, they slightly resembled a pair of vampire eyes staring at him in taunting defiance from the darkness. 

Giles slid on his glasses, then kicked off the covers and climbed out of bed.  Snatching up his dressing gown, he stuffed his arms into the sleeves and tied the sash before shifting his weight in order to slide one foot into the corresponding Isotoner slipper tucked under his bed.

_Blasted_

He recognized that sound immediately—crinkling paper.  Giles kicked off his slipper and picked it up off the floor.  Peering inside he noticed another brightly colored note, orange this time, and its solitary scribbled demand, _More_.  Feeling his anger bubbling up and threatening to boil over, he snatched up the other slipper and ripped the orange note from the lining.  He crumbled up both notes, dropped them to the floor and after sliding on his slippers, stomped on them for good measure.  Now feeling slightly better, he was ready to start his day.     

Giles trudged down the stairs making as much noise as possible, all the while using his nearly-perfect vision to eye his impromptu roommate splayed out and snoring on his sofa.  When he reached the bottom stair, his irritation had diminished some, so he decided it was best letting sleeping vamps lie, and headed down the hallway to the loo. 

Closing the door firmly behind him, Giles breathed a heavy sigh of relief.  In spite of how his morning had begun, he took comfort in the ability to be in here without an audience.  Especially one annoying vampire chained to his bath. 

Last week he wasn’t as fortunate.  While Giles patiently waited for Willow’s delivery of the much needed motherwort to magically force information regarding these elusive commandos from an uncharacteristically tight-lipped vamp.  It was then when he’d received a frantic call.  One he tried, yet wasn’t able to ignore for very long…Mother Nature.  And it was during this mandatory _response_ , Giles was subjected to Spike’s commentary regarding his… _ahem_ …endowments.  Although oddly complimentary, they’re best in remaining well forgotten.

Since he was now alone, Giles indulged in a far longer shower than usual.  He’d done so, partly as an attempt to wash away the memories of sharing a very personal time and space with the brash vampire, and partly, this was his juvenile attempt of slighting said vampire by using all the hot water.  However, it wasn’t till much later—thirty minutes and slightly pruned fingers and toes later—as he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, Giles reflected upon how his thoughts of getting back at Spike was completely childish, and although this vampire was his elder by well over a century, he was far more the mature of the two and should act as such.

_Sod that_

It wasn’t long before Giles was back formulating manners of revenge.

It was abundantly clear Spike was quite busy throughout the night.  And it was during his ablutions Giles learned how much.  He’d unearthed a multitude of multicolored notes tucked away in bath towels, stuck to his shaving mirror which were arranged in such a manner to make a face complete with fangs, and the most unnerving, were the several _Post-its_ affixed to a length of loo paper, fashioned in some sort of crude grocer’s list.

Nearly at the end of his tether, Giles decided maturity was well overrated and justice needed to be swift and severe.  Yet he couldn’t act rashly, this type of retribution required planning.  He decided over a relaxing cuppa of English Breakfast was the perfect setting for wartime preparations.  As the tea seeped, Giles pulled from the cupboard his preferred _Kiss the Librarian_ mug. 

_Bugger_

Apparently even _this_ wasn’t sacred—affixed to the ceramic was another _Post-It_ covering the word Librarian and replacing it with a single word: _VAMPIRE_.

Giles had had enough.

With mug in-hand, Giles rounded the counter and entered the living room. “Spike might I have a word…”

His words were cutoff mid-sentence when he took in the sight before him: scatterings of empty food containers complete with the myriad of crumbs, cemetery-mud-caked boots propped up on his sofa cushions, and in the center of it all this chaos was Spike, sitting in Giles’ still favorite, yet still misplaced chair, elbow deep in a Weetabix box.  He barely gave Giles a second glance while he rummaging for a few moments, pulled out his arm, slightly tilted and peered inside the box, and when finally satisfied with what he found, opened his mouth like an evil baby bird receiving its meal. 

While Spike chewed opened mouthed, he looked over to Giles and muttered, “We’re outta Weetabix.”

Giles was going to respond, but once more he’d chose not to react and decided on taking the high road and denying his initial and secondary desire to stake the bastard.  Choosing the third and clearly the best course of action, without a word, Giles grabbed his jacket and car keys, headed to the door and left. 

_Breathe in, breathe out_

Creating some distance between him and the current bane of his existence, Giles was able to take a moment and catch his breath.  With the current state he was in, he was in no shape to converse with mature and _living_ members of society.   

_Breathed in, breathe out_

It wasn’t long before he nearly reached his Zen, but as almost on some evil cue, this inner calmness was shattered when Spike flung open the door and held out to Giles a neon green _Post-It_.

“Oi, Watcher.  Add this to the list.”  Without waiting for a response, Spike stepped back into the flat and slammed the door.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him to what else Spike possibly wanted, well, besides his sanity, Giles looked down and read the barely legible scrawl.

_Post-Its_

Giles crumbled the note in his fist, and was tempted to storm into his flat and giving this pillock a piece of his mind.  Or better yet, bringing Spike outside and do the same…under the sun.  However instead of following through with plans of immolation, Giles slid the neon ball into his pocket, the same pocket which already held the loo list, and headed off to start the rest of his day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave your thoughts.


End file.
